Losing Grip
by Child of Two Worlds
Summary: Summer of GoF. Seeing someone die before your eyes is traumatic, but what about being ignored by your only maternal figure? If only she would completely ignore him...


**Losing Grip**   
by Child of Two Worlds   
  
Disclaimer - "Losing Grip" is by Avril Lavigne and belongs to her. Harry Potters and the other characters mentioned therein belong to JK Rowling.   
  
AN – The song is "Losing Grip" by Avril Lavigne. This song is really about a romantic relationship turned sour. I didn't visualize it that way and this story isn't romantic. So please note that I changed a couple words. "Baby" became "hey" and "some chick" became "someone". Thanks.   
  
  
  
He'd been at the Dursleys' for two weeks now… at least according to his calendar. It felt like he just got there, but it felt like the summer should be over already. Hell, what did he know of summer? He hadn't even left the house. Most of his time was spent in his room or asleep while the Dursleys' ignored him, pretending there wasn't a fifteen year old staring at the ceiling of his second floor bedroom. Pretending he didn't exist at all.   
  
So his days blurred into nothing, just laying there or shuffling about the house. Watching the people he had grown up with go about their lives; seeing Vernon go out to work every morning, passing by Petunia on the phone, listening to Dudley complain about his continued diet.   
  
Acting like he didn't exist while still being real. It's the strangest thing… Sometimes he was so certain that he had gotten up and gone downstairs. It felt as tangible as anything did these days. Then he would realize he was still in bed and the fact that he never moved from it. Aside from the slight shock of discovering he hadn't indeed left his room, all he felt was a void where his emotions should be. It was laughable to be so detached. He was just... _there_...   
  
Now, as he lay on his back, he could hear Dudley wailing loudly for a cheeseburger followed by Petunia's coo that it was not on his diet. How could she love that brat when he was only using her? Truly that brat was incapable of love for anyone but himself, not even his mother. Showered in gifts and affection, yet he couldn't see their real worth. Like a great vacuum sucking in all it could get.   
  
It was so unlike the times Harry had been with the Weasleys where everyone worked together to make the household function, with Mrs. Weasley as the matriarch. What he wouldn't give to be there right now to share in their happiness. He would be content even to sit to the side and watch because their love spilled over, touching him even if he wasn't its target. There was so much warmth and light in that family, Ron didn't realize how lucky he was.   
  
Harry wasn't as jealous of Ron as you might think, however. That was _Ron's_ family and they cared for Ron, as they should. They had no obligation to share their love with Harry, yet they treated him like one of their own.   
  
Harry, on one level, was extremely jealous of Dudley. He received attention and love everyday from both his parents. It wasn't the same as the love of the Weasleys, but it was love nonetheless. The Dursleys were _Harry's_ family, his only living relatives. They belonged to him as he belonged to them. Wasn't he just as deserving of their love as Dudley?   
  
No, he was a freak. They ignored him. In truth, he didn't care much about his uncle or cousin. He felt no attachment to either because, one, Vernon was not his blood relative, and two, Dudley was a twat. But his aunt was another story. She was his mother's _sister_. Didn't that mean anything to her? Didn't he mean anything?   
  
Back before he went to Hogwarts he would help her with chores around the house. After he started there his summers were progressively worse. First he was locked up, then he felt he had to run away, and finally he was ignored. Now he was ignored; left in his room alone with his thoughts.   
  
As he lay there, he knew something was wrong. Not just with the world, since he scar burned, but with himself. Yet he didn't know quite what it was or how to stop it, let alone fix it. Everyday he would just lay there if he was left on his own - Hedwig would hoot quietly and Harry would stare at the ceiling. The world might as well have been a flat, gray plain and he was staring at the gray sky. He felt nothing, no anger, no joy nor fear. He didn't have the strength to dredge these up, he just existed, there on the bed, and nothing mattered.   
  


~*~   
  
_ Are you aware of what you make me feel, hey  
Right now I feel invisible to you, like I'm not real _   
  
~*~

  
  
Sometimes he would think about how it all went wrong and how he ended up here. Foremost was killing Wormtail. If he had just let Lupin and Sirius kill the rat he would be with Sirius now. Right? One death and he could be living with someone who cares about him. Or, even further back, if he had simply realized that his life was not normal then he could have told the nurse in primary school that the infection was really from negligence and not rust. He would have been removed and put god knows where, but it wouldn't be here.   
  
His mind replayed trips he had taken, being with his friends, facing Voldemort, how it felt to be flying above the Quidditch pitch.   
  
Yet he didn't care.   
  
That brought an unexpected memory from a very long time ago: when he decided to stop seeking attention from the Dursleys.   
  
Before that day he had tried so hard to please his family. To be part of the love they shared with one another. It nearly worked on his Aunt. Or was that some twisted illusion of his memory? It didn't matter anyway...   
  
That day had been unpleasant, which was not unusual for the country. The foul weather kept both Harry and Dudley inside and the only distraction for the Lardball had been his little cousin. At four years old Dudley was already larger than most first graders while Harry was still wearing Dudley's baby clothes, yet this size difference worked in Harry's favor. Dudley could chase him all over the house, but his fat cousin would get winded far quicker than Harry ever would. Eventually the cartoons that Dudley faithfully followed drew his attention away. As soon as he was gone Harry sat at the top of the staircase, rested his head between the rails of the banister, and closed his eyes. Then Dudley returned. All too soon his monstrous cousin was upon him and Harry couldn't get away fast enough. A sudden solid blow to the back left his breathless and over balanced. All he knew was the vertigo. For the briefest moment everything froze as Harry was in mid air. He desperately tried to catch himself but it was useless. He tumbled down the stairs, head over foot, and the thin rug did nothing to cushion fall.   
  
HHarry lay there in a haze of hurt, sobbing pitifully. His leg was throbbing and his glasses were broken. Several minutes passed before he hauled himself up and limped to the kitchen where he could hear the radio playing and knew Petunia was inside listening to it while she cleaned. Was it wrong of him to thing she would put ice on his leg and send him to his cupboard?   
  
She was washing the counter when he snuck up behind her and wrapped his small arms around her legs, whimpering and crying.   
  
Instead of picking him up and washing away his tears, she turned away so that he could no longer hold on. She twisted out of his grasp and he felt so bereft, lost and empty at that loss of warmth and human contact. Why did she do that? It was worse than the fall to be standing there and clutching at nothing. She stood there, far enough away that he couldn't reach her, but close enough to still be in each other's personal space. As if she were waiting for something or deciding, perhaps... As if that mattered now anyway.   
  
When she didn't say anything he scrubbed at his face and cried that Dudley had pushed him down the stairs and that he really, really hurt. Despite his illusions her tone was icy and her posture rigid. It was like a slap to the face when she said, "Get out."   
  
And he continued to cry.   
  
Finally, when he didn't move she put her hand on his back and pushed him out the door, slamming it shut.   
  


~*~   
  
_ Didn't you feel my lock my arms around you?  
Why'd you turn away? _   
  
~*~

  
  
He sat on the back stoop for a long time rubbing his leg. He stopped crying a long while ago and the throbbing had reduced to a slight ache. With his arms wrapped around his torso he made a silent vow: If no one here loved him, he would not love back. If they hated him, he would not show any weakness they could exploit. If they didn't care if he lived or died…then he would wait for someone who did. Surely his mother and father couldn't have left him to spend the rest of his life _here_. Even if they drank too much that night they must have thought about his future. This must be a stop over. Someone was coming, a real relative who loved him, who would tell him about his parents and how wonderful they really were.   
  
But until then, he was alone and would have to take care of himself because no else would do it.   
  


~*~   
  
_ Here's what I have to say  
I was left to cry there,  
Waiting outside there  
Burning with a lost stare  
That's when I decided  
Why should I care  
Cuz you weren't there when I was scare  
I was so alone  
You, you need to listen  
I'm starting to trip,  
I'm losing my grip  
And I'm in this thing alone. _   
  
~*~

  
  
Vernon acted as if Harry was a burden. Dudley thought of Harry as his personal punching bag. Petunia saw Harry as her slave.   
  
One of her favorite jobs for Harry was to have him dry the dishes after dinner. She would wash them and he would dry them. It was what they did in the evenings - their routine. If Petunia was in a good mood she would smile and hum, remembering a tune from her childhood. She couldn't sing, but her humming was alright if you weren't looking to follow a pattern.   
  
Sometimes Harry would forget the promise he made to himself and get lost in the feeling of familiarity and comfort. Standing side by side at the counter, passing him the dishes, it was almost normal. The sun might be setting, which painted the sky red and her hands were warm and slick from soap. This was a time when Petunia was almost a different person, but he didn't realize that made him a different person to her.   
  
If he tried to join her little world, or if she _really_ looked at him – looked him in the face and recognized who he _really_ was – then it was all gone in an instant. But when he stood next to her, on the edge of whatever memory she replayed, he would feel that if he were to turn to her and extend his arms she would pick him up and embrace him. Maybe she would hug him and tell him she loved him, just as he had seen so many other mothers do.   
  
It was so real, so tangible, he almost cried when she realized that her memory was no longer true. It always ended too soon. Her eyes iced over and she snapped at him to leave.   
  
And he would leave her alone, in the kitchen with the rest of the dishes, wondering why he bothered.   
  
Why did they hate him? Why wasn't he normal? Why was no one coming for him?   
  


~*~   
  
_ Am I just someone you placed beside you  
To take somebody's place  
When you turn around can you recognize my face?  
You used to love me,  
You used to hug me  
But that wasn't the case  
Everything wasn't ok. _   
  
~*~

  
  
The haze of memories faded away and he finally recognize the presence in his room. Petunia was standing at the foot of his bed screeching, "Get up!"   
  
He looked at her with dead eyes.   
  
"What's wrong with you?!" She ripped the blanket off him and flailed her arms. "Get up!" Her exasperation could almost be misinterpreted...   
  
Could he tell her what was really wrong? What would she say? Would she understand? What if he talked about how everything was falling apart? That something evil, which so many people had worked to destroy, was back by his blood. That someone was dead because of him. That he wasn't sure if he wanted to go back but knew he had to. That he no longer wanted this. How his days blurred and he wondered if it had been real. If anything was real.   
  
And just how very alone he felt.   
  
But he said none of this, only looked at her wearily, and left the room. He could feel her eyes on his as he walked down the hall. She said nothing.   
  


~*~   
  
_ Why should I care  
Cuz you weren't there when I was scared  
I was so alone  
You, you need to listen (listen)  
I'm starting to trip,  
I'm losing my grip  
And I'm in this thing alone _   
  
~*~

  
  
He neither commented nor complained when Petunia told him exactly which plants to pull out, nodding his head when he was expected to. Everything but his words betrayed his suffering – slow, unsteady steps, expressionless face, dull eyes that never looked at you, and lack of response upon antagonism. Classic symptoms.   
  
The Dursleys didn't seem to care about the changes. As if he'd know anyway, he was too lost in his thoughts to notice anything. Preoccupied with the concept of being stuck with the Dursleys and when he would be able to leave. September first was salvation and escape, but was also so many other things he would rather not thing about.   
  
This was the one place Voldemort could not penetrate, the monster had said so himself. Until then he was safe here. Wasn't he?   
  
Harry left that thought quickly, but wondered why no one noticed. At Hogwarts his friends could read him easily, Ron and Hermione knew he didn't want to be here. The Weasleys had offered to let Harry stay over for the summer. Yet here he was wallowing in his misery for the lack of anything better. Was it something to do with the spells Dumbledore had placed on the house? Is that why they didn't see? Or did they just ignore it?   
  
Harry angrily tore out a weed. Why did he care whether or not they saw what was wrong? He knew they didn't care about him, he'd known that for years. Yet, after all this time, there was that little bit of hope that what he knew wasn't true.   
  


~*~   
  
_ Crying out loud  
I'm crying out loud  
Crying out loud  
I'm crying out loud   
  
Open up your eyes  
Open up wide _   
  
~*~

  
  
Hunched over beside a pile of dead plants, covered in dirt and sweat, he wiped his brow with the back of his glove. She was watching him again. He could feel her eyes on him. _She knew_ something was wrong, just as she knew about his parents and his magic. And just like before she did nothing. Did she think hard labor could drive this away? Was putting him to work any better than leaving him in his room? What was watching him like a stalker going to achieve?   
  
She did this often, but only when she thought he wasn't looking. Late at night she would stand on the threshold of his room to watch him sleep. If he was in his cupboard she worked nearby just to be sure of where he was. After sending him to the backyard she would hide behind the curtains, as she was doing now, so he didn't do anything to call the attention of the neighbors. Always shadowing him but never interfering in a positive manner. Though she never spared the time when distracted by her husband or son.   
  
Harry wanted to yell at her, scream that he was not alright. That following him wasn't the same as being with him. He wanted her to know he saw her watching him and ask why she did only that. To tell him why she played these games with him. He wanted to know why she didn't care.   
  
If she didn't care then why should he?   
  
Harry pushed his glasses back up and knelt back in the dirt. He refused to think about the past or the future. Pulling weeds was menial labor. Just think about the plants and the dirt - such things only existed _now_. It didn't matter where they came from or where they would end up, he had thought too long on that and it was a futile effort. Thinking of his future was a futile effort.   
  
Harry clenched the stem in his fist and ripped it from the earth.   
  


~*~   
  
_ Why should I care  
Cuz You weren't there  
when I was scared  
I was so alone  
Why should I care  
Cuz you weren't there  
when I was scared  
I was so alone   
  
Why should I care  
If you don't care  
Then I don't care  
We're not going anywhere _   
  



End file.
